


Play.

by lullabelle



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Community: whoverse_las, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-30
Updated: 2010-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:19:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lullabelle/pseuds/lullabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day that never was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for whoverse_las Challenge #9. The prompt was: "Worst day... EVER!" Unbeta'd.

“It’s an all-purpose recorder,” Gwen says from off-screen. “Jack showed me how to work it before... well, before.”

“Before he buggered off?” Owen supplies helpfully. The image pans right, away from where Tosh is disassembling some equipment for transport, and comes to rest on Owen’s scowl.

“It’s indestructible, and supposedly time-lock capable, though I’m not sure what that means to us in practical terms,” Gwen continues. “Tosh helped me set up a relay with visual from the contact lenses, and audio from my earpiece. Basically, I’m a walking camcorder. Something like this could be useful in the field, and I figured we could use this trip as a dry run.”

“We’re going to the _Himalayas._ Really the best time?” gripes Owen.

“No time like the present.”

 

_Forward._

“My kingdom for a Starbucks,” Tosh says, gazing up at the snow-capped peaks in front of her.

From somewhere nearby, Ianto lets out a disgusted huff.

 

_Forward._

“A _Jack-in-the-box_. Saxon hauled us up here for a fucking _Jack-in-the-box_ ,” Owen yells, putting a boot through the offending object.

“Do you think it’s a message?” Gwen asks. “Something to do with Jack?”

Ianto shakes his head. “I think it’s a distraction. Someone wants us out of the way.” He reaches up and pulls his hat more firmly over his ears. “We should get back to Cardiff. Now.”

 

_Forward._

The team is nearly home the first time they see the spheres shooting down a commercial airliner over the city. Their own small charter plane goes unnoticed for the moment. 

“Land us as soon as you can,” Gwen tells the pilot.

 

_Forward._

Their plane touches down in an empty field in Splott. The hear something giggling at them from out of sight. It’s their only warning; their pilot is dead the second his feet hit the ground.

Around them, the night erupts into a deadly light show.

“Rendezvous at the Happy Cook!” Gwen yells as they scatter.

The plane explodes behind them, knocking everyone forward. When the roar subsides, the only sound that can be heard over the chorus of manic giggles is that of a woman screaming. It has to be Tosh, but Gwen doesn’t dare stop running to look.

 

_Forward._

After hours of running, following the road but staying behind the tree line as much as possible, Gwen finally reaches the Happy Cook. The place is a wreck, with scorch marks marring walls and bodies in the dining area. She closes the gaping exterior doors and hides in the kitchen. Two hours pass before Ianto joins her.

“This location was in one of your reports,” he says. “The Eugene Jones incident?”

“It was the only landmark nearby that I knew of,” Gwen tells him.

Ianto closes his eyes, a pained expression on his face. “Owen never reads field reports.”

They wait for three hours, but if they want to get into the city they have to go while it’s still dark. Ianto erases the daily specials from the chalk board and writes “Gone to feed Myfanwy” across it in big pink letters.

 

_Forward._

Outside the city limits a middle-aged man waves them inside his home with his rifle grasped in one hand, and his eyes trained warily on the sky. It’s the rifle that convinces them to accept his hospitality. He offers them water and information, and they learn a new word: Toclafane. 

The man wants them to stay the night, but they politely decline, asking instead to buy his gun off him. When he refuses Ianto knocks him unconscious with a walking stick from the man's own umbrella rack. There’s a small cache of ammunition in the kitchen. Ianto empties his wallet of bills and leaves them on the man's kitchen table.

“It’s okay,” Gwen tells him when she sees the look on his face. “We’ll fix this. He won’t need this rifle, because we’ll fix this for him.”

Ianto nods and schools his face into a blank expression before he and Gwen head back out.

 

_Forward._

Gwen slumps against the brick wall of the alley. In the pre-dawn light, she can just make out the Toclafane swarming over the Plass like bees. “We’ll never make it inside,” she whispers.

“We’ve made it this far,” says Ianto, behind her. 

She turns to face him and leans in, the close-up image of his shirt-collar disappearing as she closes her eyes.

“Twenty-four hours ago we were in the mountains, watching Owen assault a Jack-in-the-box,” Ianto says, voice muffled a bit by Gwen’s hair.

“It really has been a shit day,” Gwen agrees mirthlessly. “Even if we make it into the hub... what do we do?”

Ianto sighs. “If we skirt around the edge of the Plass, we might be able to make a break for the information center.” A pause, then, “Do you have any better ideas?”

 

_Forward._

They’re close, so very close, when the Toclafane spot them.

“Run!” Ianto shouts at her, “I’ll cover you!” He’s shooting before she can argue, so she just does it, runs until she reaches the door, and when she gets there she realizes the shooting has stopped, so she turns her head to look and --

TSEW!

“FUCK!” Gwen hurls herself inside. The interior door to the hub is already ajar. She slams it behind her as she rockets through and into the lift. Looking down, her hands clutching her stomach are drenched red.

“Dammit. I just -- I couldn’t leave him,” she moans. “I left Tosh. I--” The cog door rolls open. She staggers through, collapses in the cage. The cog rolls shut. “I’m in the hub. I made it, but-- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The screen goes black but the apologies continue, getting softer and softer and more frantic until they--

 

_Stop._

Jack stands by the rail overlooking the water. Behind him the sky is red with sunset, not fire, as he rolls the recording device, screen now blank, over and over in his hands.

“Never happened,” he tells it firmly, and throws it into the bay.


End file.
